Ghosts of the Past
by BregoArodShadowfax
Summary: Enjolras is haunted by something from his past that makes him unable to trust or get close to anyone, and the students are determined to find out what. Of course, they all have their own problems to work out...
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, it's time for a new story! Well, since I'm officially obsessed with Les Miz now, I'm writing longer fanfiction on it. This story...well, I personally like it, but let me know what you think! Reviews me loves, but I'd appreciate it if we keep the flames to a minimum. Ev'ryone's entitled to their opinion, but if you're sending something you would not like to receive, think about how anyone else will feel to receive it. **

**There. Now that that's settled…slash. Of course. Well, nothing serious, but there are elements of it. Young frenchboys tend to do that sort of thing to a writer…not to mention the people I know who were in Les Miz…oh well. If you don't like, don't read. And enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables or any of its characters. ANY IDEAS ARE MINE!!! Please do not steal. It's not nice. On with the story! **

**Chapter One**

Enjolras stood at the window of the Café Musain, watching the members of his small group head out into the cold December night. He put a hand up on the windowsill and thought about how they were all probably just going off to get drunk now…if they weren't already, that is. He turned away from the window and headed into the long hallway that connected the Café proper to the room where Les Amis held all of their meetings. He liked going there, alone. It was quiet, and dark, and perfect for thinking…something he never could do with everyone else around. For being a group of studious pupils, they certainly were loud.

He entered the room and reached for a candle, but something gave him pause. He wasn't alone. _Strange, _he thought, _we didn't even have a meeting tonight- haven't used this room for a week. Who else could be here? _He decided that whoever it was probably was no threat, because the serving lady wouldn't let anyone but a student back there. "And who do I have the pleasure of sharing this room with?" he asked softly, and he could hear a faint rustling in the corner.

"It's just me; there's nothing to be worried about," a voice replied.

"I assure you, M'sieur, I am not worried. But perhaps you'd like to explain to me why you're sitting in the dark all alone?" The voice wasn't familiar to him, but then, there were a lot of people in their group that he didn't know on a personal level. He reached down and lit the candle, carrying it over to where the other man was sitting.

"Sitting in the dark alone gives me time to think," the other man replied, flinching a little as his eyes adjusted to the light. He was young…Enjolras knew that he'd seen him before, but…of course. Marius; Courfeyrac's friend.

"We are of a like mind then, Marius." The boy looked at him. "It _is _Marius, is it not?"

"Indeed. I'm surprised you remember. After all, I haven't been a faithful devotee to the group."

"You're a Buonapartist. I think Courfeyrac's hoping to win you 'round, but you seem to be an obstinate lad." Enjolras sat at the table opposite from Marius.

"Obstinate? Hardly. I just don't know what to think anymore. After my father died…he had done some service for the Emperor, you see; Napoleon made him a baron…a title that he gave to me. That was hardly a year ago, but that's when my political opinions changed. Now I come to Paris, and I find that there's a third option. I'm afraid that I just need some time to figure out what side I stand on," Marius replied, looking at the other man, really for the first time. Courfeyrac had, of course, introduced everyone, but Marius had never talked to any of them one-on-one. Here, it seemed, was another person with whom he could match wits.

Enjolras was evidently thinking the same thing, because a slow smile spread across his fair features. "I see. Perhaps I can convince you more readily than Monsieur de Courfeyrac. At any rate, now is not the time to do any convincing. It's late; it's starting to snow, and the wind is picking up. I suggest you get yourself home, Monsieur."

"Home?" Marius laughed. "You mean, the shack where the wind blows through the walls and the neighbors are noisy enough to bring the police over? Where all I own is a dresser, two chairs, and a pallet…plus a closet with two sets of clothes and no money for supper? That home?" There was a bitterness to his tone that told Enjolras that life had not always been cruel to him.

"Is it something you want to discuss?" He asked, feeling a strange kinship with this young man whom he hardly knew. There was something about him…something that promised a strong friendship if the flame was ever kindled. And besides…Enjolras knew what it was like to have your family turn its back on you.

"Not really, I suppose. Just…thinking out loud again. I don't want to bother you any more," he stood up and made for the door.

"Marius…wait." Marius turned around, an expression of curiosity on his face. "Why don't we go over to my place? It's not far, and it seems like it's a bit of an improvement on yours."

"You're inviting me, a near perfect stranger, to your house? I have to admit, I never thought of you as the 'open and trusting' type of man," Marius raised an eyebrow.

"You've read me well, then. But I trust my instincts, and there's something about you…I want to learn more about you…I'd like for us to be…friends," he ducked his head awkwardly. "Sorry. I guess I've never really had many friends. I've always preferred to be on my own, and…"

"No, really, I don't mind. I feel it, too. There's something…common between us. You see, I don't really have friends either. Courfeyrac's kind of adopted me as his friend, but there's never been anyone there for me that I could completely trust. I guess we're not so different after all," Marius gave the other man a smile. What he said was true, he didn't know which side of the political fence he stood on, but he was willing to let Les Amis convince him of their position.

"Apparently not." Enjolras returned the smile as the two of them made their way out of the café into the lightly falling snow. Enjolras led the way to the apartment he was renting, which was really only a few blocks away from Café Musain. Marius stopped in the doorway and looked around, amazed. It looked…like a home. There was proper furniture, the walls had no holes in them, and there was a bed…a real bed, not a pallet thrown on the floor. Enjolras noticed him staring. "What?"

"Oh…it's just that, compared to my place, this is a palace," Marius felt embarrassed admitting his poverty, but Enjolras gave him a comforting smile.

"Well, I can assure you, it's no palace. I'm just lucky my father still acknowledges my existence and gives me the money to keep renting this place. And what about you? Where do you live?" He sat down in an armchair, indicating for Marius to take the other one.

"Me? Oh, nowhere in particular. You know that old Gorbeaux place? The one where nobody's sure what number the house has?"

"That place?" Enjolras sat forward in the chair. "I've heard of it. It's a bit of a shady development, isn't it?"

"You'd think so…but I'm really the only one who lives there, now. Well, besides a family of four that lives in the suite beside mine. I've never had any problems," Marius shrugged, and the shrug turned into a yawn a moment later. "But it's late. I really should be getting home…Ma'am Bougon locks the door at ten, and I don't have my key with." He stood up.

Enjolras pulled back the drapes and looked out the window. "You know what? Why don't you stay for the night? The snow's coming down harder, and I doubt your apartment is the warmest place in Paris to sleep in."

"Well, that's certainly true. Are you sure you wouldn't mind? After all, it's not like you owe me anything."

"I thought we were supposed to be friends, now. A few random acts of kindness can go a long way, Marius. And I suppose I'll have to make up for the rest of my life, because I've been anything _but _kind…even to those I profess to care about," he stared down at the floor.

"Well, I wouldn't worry about it too much," Marius said comfortingly. "At least you're willing to change. But let's discuss psychology in the morning, shall we?"

"Of course. What kind of gracious host am I? Make yourself at home. The bed is yours," he pointed.

"Are you sure? Where will you sleep?" Marius couldn't deny the fact that it had been a long time since he had slept in an actual bed, but…

"Marius, when's the last time you slept in a bed?"

"Well…it has been a long time, and…"

"Then stop worrying about it. There are plenty of other places I can sleep."

Marius wanted to protest, but another yawn told him how tired he truly was. He walked slowly over to the bed and lay down, sleep coming to him almost instantly.

As soon as Enjolras was sure that Marius was asleep, he put his coat and cravat back on and headed into the snow, making his way to the old Gorbeaux house. As far as he was concerned, you could never truly know a person unless you walked in their shoes, which in this case meant seeing how Marius lived. He found the house easily enough; it was a bit of an infamous location; and went inside, making his way up the rotting staircase. As he neared the top, something ran into him from behind and nearly knocked him over.

"Oh, pardon me, M'sieur!" A voice; female, but with a rasp and an incredibly deep timbre greeted him. He straightened up and looked at her, grateful that a beam of moonlight had penetrated the cloud cover and was shining through the grimy window. A pair of haunted eyes stared back at him. She was young; probably not yet sixteen, and had a face that had the potential to be pretty if life had been kinder to her. She blinked once, then said, "But who is he, and what is he doing here?" almost as if she was talking to herself.

"Excuse me, mademoiselle…" Enjolras started.

"Oh! That's nice. He calls me 'mademoiselle.'" The girl muttered.

"I'm looking for the suite of a young man named Monsieur Marius. Do you know of it?"

The girl looked back at him. "M'sieur Marius? He is a lawyer, is he not?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued, "He is very handsome. But then, so are you, M'sieur."

Enjolras blushed in the darkness. Of course, Les Amis always teased him about his looks, and he had heard whispers on the street, but never in so blunt a way.

"Ah, but then you must be a student, too. I could have been one, you know. I can read, and write. But M'sieur Pontmercy? Yes, he is our neighbor, but he has never noticed us. Not that he should; people like him don't mingle with the likes of us. I'm Éponine," she stated suddenly. "But if ever I were to have friends, I'd like for them to call me 'Ponine," she added.

Enjolras shook her hand, saying, "Well met, Mademoiselle Éponine. My name's Enjolras, and I suppose that if I had any friends, I'd prefer they called me that."

She smiled. "That's a fine name, M'sieur. But you _must _have friends, or why are you here? And I'm no 'mademoiselle'." The girl jumped from one topic to another frequently, but Enjolras was catching on to her mannerisms and decided to reply in a like manner.

"Well, I'm afraid I'm no 'M'sieur,' Éponine. And no, I have no friends; merely acquaintances. My fault, I know, but I would like it if Marius and I could be friends. That's part of the reason why I am here."

She nodded; then, "But you won't find him here. He's out."

"I know. He is currently at my place," Enjolras replied.

Éponine blinked. "_Pardieu, _M'sieur, but that does not seem like a way to become friends."

Enjolras sighed. "No; perhaps not. But then, I never claimed to be an expert." They both turned as the sound of footsteps echoed up the stairs. A girl, perhaps a couple of years younger than Éponine, was standing at the head of the staircase, breathing heavily.

" 'Ponine…" she gasped as she tried to slow her breath down. "When did you get in? Have you seen Father yet?" They were obviously related, Enjolras thought.

"No. And just. Why? Where have you been?" Éponine glared at the girl.

"Delivering letters. But I ran into some trouble…"

"The _cognes? _'Zelma, what…"

"Nothing. 'Parnasse bailed me out. But we have to tell Father we're back or…"

"I'm sure he's heard us, 'Zelma. The walls are thin. You go on." Éponine shrugged, apparently unconcerned.

"But Father will…"

"Oh, pooh on Father! I'm old enough. I'll be in in a minute." The other girl nodded and went into a room at the end of the hallway. Éponine turned back to Enjolras. "My sister, Azelma. Father treats us like children. I have a brother, too, but Mother and Father don't care for him. He rarely comes home. He is a _gamin_, you see. Gavroche is his name." The girl hurriedly explained.

Enjolras blinked. "Gavroche?"

"You know him?"

"Not well, but he often comes into Café Musain and talks to the other students."

Éponine smiled. "He would. But I should go…if you are staying, I must warn you…M'sieur Marius doesn't have a fireplace. I would lend you a blanket, but we don't have enough for ourselves, you see…"

Enjolras shook his head. "I'll be alright. Don't worry about me."

Éponine nodded, but then she grew thoughtful. "Will I see you again, M'sieur Enjolras?"

Enjolras realized that he liked this girl. It had been a long time since he had found someone he could talk so freely to, and he supposed he would like it if they could be friends. He smiled, thinking what his father would say if he found out he was associating with _gamin_. Besides, it was apparent that the girl needed a friend; possibly even more than he did. "I hope so. We won't be very good friends if we never see each other, will we?"

The girl's eyes positively glowed. "Friends? Oh, I'd like that very much. M'sieur Marius lives right beside us and…good night, M'sieur!" She sped off down the hall.

"Good night… 'Ponine," Enjolras called softly after her.

She didn't stop, but her step faltered a bit and he heard her mutter. "That's nice. He calls me ' 'Ponine.'"

Enjolras smiled slightly and walked to the door beside the room Éponine and Azelma had gone into. Pushing it open, he entered and was greeted by a blast of icy air. He looked around, amazed at the condition of the room. He had thought Marius had been exaggerating when he had described how awful the place was, but if anything, he had downplayed the truth. There wasn't a candle in sight to even take the chill out of the air, and the pallet in the corner was covered in snow from where it had blown in through the walls.

Brushing the snow off of the pallet, he moved it to the center of the room, lay down, and tried to go to sleep, thinking about how he would feel if none of this was worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to all who reviewed! And I'm sorry if some of my characters seem OOC, but that's probably because they're a mixture of the characters from the book, the musical, and just the people I know who played them. Well, here's Chapter Two. Enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: Still don't own it. **

**Chapter Two**

Marius awoke, feeling warm, comfortable, and for the first time in a long time, well rested. He opened his eyes and sat up, spotting Enjolras standing at the window, staring outside. But something didn't seem quite right…it took Marius' sleep-fogged brain a moment to register what it was, but he soon realized that Enjolras seemed to be shivering uncontrollably.

"Enjolras?" he asked sleepily, causing the man at the window to turn with a start.

"Oh…g-good morning, M-Marius. S-sleep well?" he stammered out.

"Did anything…happen last night?" Marius got out of the bed.

"Nothing of importance," Enjolras, who was trying to get his shivering under control, replied. "Although I met your neighbor. Nice girl."

"You…how…" Marius' eyes widened. "You didn't! I thought you were the smart one?" he jibed lightly.

"There's a notable difference between intelligence and common sense, Marius. It appears I lack a bit of the latter." He turned back to the window.

Marius reached out and lightly brushed the other man's hand, a little alarmed at how cold it was. Enjolras hastily pulled away, a look of…what? Fear? Uncertainty? In his eyes, although Marius wasn't quite sure he hadn't imagined it, because a moment later it was replaced by his usually stony glare.

"Your hands are like ice. We need to warm you up," Marius said gently.

"What do you have in mind?" Enjolras glared at him suspiciously.

"You don't have any brandy on hand, do you? I hear it does wonders for restoring warmth."

"I don't drink." Enjolras replied curtly.

"Oh. Well, I suppose we'll have to fall back on traditional methods, in that case. First, sit on the bed and wrap yourself in a blanket, and then…" he paused.

"Yes? Then what?"

"Body heat," Marius said slowly.

"No. Absolutely not." Enjolras pulled a blanket over his shoulders and sat on the edge of the bed, directing a death glare in Marius' direction.

"Enjolras, what you need right now is warmth, and for once, I'm warm enough to help. What's the matter?" Marius asked softly, sitting down.

Enjolras sighed. "It's not you; but you can't help me, Marius. Nobody can." There was something in his voice, a type of forlorn longing, which told Marius that maybe he hadn't always been the marble statue he appeared to be. Underneath, he seemed frighteningly human, and Marius immediately felt a pang of sympathy for the other man. There was evidently something from his past that was haunting him.

"Enjolras, please…" Marius started, and something about the way he said it made Enjolras turn. It almost seemed as if…maybe Marius was the key to helping him start again, but he had been alone and hurt for so long that… "Please, I'm only asking you to trust that I would never do anything to hurt you." He sounded completely sincere, and, despite the demons that haunted him, Enjolras nodded.

Marius cautiously reached out and drew the other man closer to him, wrapping the blanket around them both. They sat that way for a few minutes, and Enjolras was feeling sufficiently warm, when he asked, "What time is it?"

"Nearly 9:00," Marius replied.

"We have to hurry if we want to make breakfast. Are you coming?" Enjolras stood up.

"You're going back outside?" Marius questioned.

"I'll put an extra coat on, if you're so concerned."

Marius smiled. "Good. I was going to suggest that."

They were about halfway to _Corinth _when they were hailed from an alleyway.

"Good morning, gentlemen!" A cheery voice called. "And where might you two be off to on such a fine winter morning?" Feuilly came onto the sidewalk.

"Surely you must have heard about our little breakfast date?" Enjolras inquired.

Feuilly paused thoughtfully for a moment, then, "No, I can't say I have. When was this arranged?"

"You're saying that you did not discuss it last night?"

"Last night when?"

"You're not seriously telling me that you did not go for a drink after leaving the café?" Enjolras looked shocked.

"A drink?" Feuilly blinked. "Well, perhaps the others did. Myself, I went home. I don't drink much you see; can't afford it." He said the last quietly, kicking a small stone along as he walked.

As they passed the mouth of another alley, an elderly beggar stopped them, bowing and saying, "Oh, pardon, M'sieurs, but surely three fine gentlemen such as yourselves can spare a coin so an old man can get some breakfast?"

Feuilly, savior to the poor that he was, immediately started digging in his threadbare coat for money, but Enjolras stopped him by tossing the beggar a five-franc piece.

The beggar stared at the coin in astonishment for a minute before hastily pocketing it and scurrying back down the alley with a, "God bless you, M'sieurs!"

Feuilly glanced at Enjolras with an unreadable expression before saying, "That's more than I make in a day!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"Sorry? I think it's wonderful! The poor deserve it!" His eyes were alight, the way they always were when he talked about "The Cause," as he had named it. "But more to the point: where are we going for breakfast?"

"A little wine place called _Corinth. _According to more expert sources, the wine may not be the best around, but the food is certainly up to par. Joly and Bossuet eat there nearly every day, and I'm dearly hoping that if we arrive at the right time, the food will already be paid for," Enjolras replied.

"Ah. And speaking of Joly, have you heard anything more about this new mistress of his? I'm afraid I don't remember her name…"

"Musichetta? He talks about her endlessly, to be sure, but I can't say I've ever met her," Enjolras shrugged.

"Do you ever wonder about why certain people always seem to have no trouble at all finding women to be with them?" Feuilly asked. "To be more precise: why do a hypochondriac like Joly, and, to a lesser extent, a prematurely bald man like Bossuet, seem to have all the luck when it comes to love?"

"Are you implying that you desire to find a mistress?" Enjolras asked with a slight smile.

"Heavens, no. I could never keep one," Feuilly replied seriously.

"Why not? You're undoubtedly attractive enough."

Feuilly blushed. "I appreciate that. Gods don't praise mere mortals all that often. But no, I merely mean that, again, I could never afford to please a woman."

Enjolras glanced sideways at Feuilly then, saying, "You're unusually talkative this morning, aren't you?"

"I suppose it's far easier to talk when somebody is willing to listen…" Feuilly cut off abruptly, looking afraid that Enjolras was going to yell at him, but to his great surprise, the other man merely stared at the sidewalk.

"I'm afraid I haven't done much listening, lately," he said softly.

"For what it's worth, I prefer the human to the god," Feuilly replied gently, garnering a smile from Enjolras. He then looked over at Marius and inquired, "Is this your doing, then?"

Marius ducked his head awkwardly and looked at the ground. "Partly, I suppose."

"Well," Feuilly clapped him on the back, "Any man who can inspire this much change in Apollo is an _Ami _indeed. But I don't believe we've ever been properly introduced. I'm Feuilly."

"Marius," Marius replied, as Feuilly glanced up at the building they were passing.

"Well, gentlemen, I do believe we're here. Shall we?" He opened the door, and the three of them walked up the stairs to the first floor, where two men were sitting at a table, deep in conversation. "Good morning, _mes amis!" _Feuilly called. The two looked up.

"Heddo, Feuilly. Heddo, Enjolras. Heddo, Barius," Joly nodded towards them.

"Joly, are you feeling under the weather again?" Feuilly laughed, going to sit at the table. Marius and Enjolras followed.

"Indeed, and I believe it is legitimate this time," Bossuet put in. "I can feel my sinuses starting to plug up."

"Bossuet!" Joly exclaimed. "You do I neber kid about beig ill!"

"Of course not, Joly. And you know I only tease you because I love you," Lesgles replied. Joly snorted. "But, my friends, I'm afraid you have entered this drama a minute too late. Breakfast, alas, has already been ordered and paid for," Lesgles continued.

"Shame, that," Feuilly winked at the other two.

"Indeed. So I hope the three of you are up for oysters, cheese, and ham, because…" At that moment, a head appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Gentlemen, we come bearing tidings!" Combeferre, for it was his head, announced, coming into the room.

"Paris is in an uproar!" Courfeyrac entered behind Combeferre.

"Riots in the streets! There is talk, citizens. Talk…"

"Of a revolution!" Courfeyrac finished triumphantly.

"No." Enjolras replied sharply, folding his arms.

"Why ever not?" Combeferre questioned.

"Because by tonight Paris will no longer remember what she was angry about, to begin with. And furthermore…" he continued, overriding Courfeyrac's protest, "no one in their right mind starts a revolution in the winter. Come back in June." His tone left no room for argument.

"Come, Combeferre," Courfeyrac glared at Enjolras. "Perhaps the two of us can have a more satisfying discussion over there." He gestured, and the two seated themselves across the room.

Marius could tell that Enjolras' mood was rapidly becoming worse, so he asked, "Where are the others?"

"Hmm? Oh. Bahorel ad Grantaire probably wod't be cobig. The played a drinkig game last night. Ad Bahorel albost won," Joly supplied.

"Did he now?" Feuilly leaned forward.

"Oh, yes. Most impressive. And as for Prouvaire…well, I was hoping that _you _could inform us of his whereabouts, Feuilly."

"And how should I know where he is?"

"Come now, Feuilly, don't play dumb. We all know out resident poet fancies you."

Feuilly let out a rather undignified squawk, but was saved from forming a retort by the appearance of none other than Jehan Prouvaire himself.

"Good morning, all," he said in his characteristically mild voice, but his eyes brightened visibly when he saw Feuilly. "Sébastien! I didn't expect to see you here. Do you come by often?"

"First time, actually. How are you, Jehan?" Feuilly blushed a bit at the use of his first name.

" 'Sébastien'?" Bossuet elbowed him.

"Can you see why I prefer not to use it?" Feuilly replied sharply.

"Oh, I'm perfectly fine," Jehan broke in, answering Feuilly's earlier query. "But…" and his voice dropped to a stage whisper, "why is Fearless Leader dressed like he's going to Siberia?"

Bossuet turned to look at Enjolras, who still hadn't removed his two coats, and replied, "Fearless Leader's in a bit of a mood this morning, Jehan. I'd let him alone if I were you."

"Oh. What are those two doing?" Jehan continued in the same whisper, indicating Combeferre and Courfeyrac with a nod.

"Pladdig a rebolutiod," Joly replied.

"Ah."

"Yes, although Fearless Leader cut them off before Combeferre went into his lengthy astrology theories. I can just imagine it now…" Lesgles stood up. " 'Gentlemen, the time is right to stage an uprising because the planet Mars is forming an exact fifty-five degree angle with the earth. We all know that Aries, the guardian of Mars, is the god of war, and therefore it is a clear sign that an émeute will be successful!'" He exclaimed and then sat down. Joly started to laugh but quickly turned it into a cough when Combeferre shot them a glare from across the room. Marius, leaning forward, had rested one arm on the back of Enjolras' chair, causing Bossuet to point out, "Fearless Leader, you do realize that Marius is touching your chair?"

"Why, no, I'm afraid I hadn't. Thank you for informing me," Enjolras replied sarcastically.

"But is he not invading your personal space?" Bossuet pressed.

"Frankly, Bossuet, I don't see how that concerns you," Enjolras snapped, causing Prouvaire to emit a little squeak and drop into Feuilly's lap, due to the fact that there were no chairs nearby. Enjolras glanced around the table to see the men staring at him with everything from amusement, in Lesgles' case; to apprehension, and even to outright horror from Jehan. He let out a heavy sigh and stalked off to stare out the window. Marius followed him, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. Enjolras stiffened but didn't move away, much to Marius' relief.

"What's wrong with me, Marius? Why am I so uptight? I can see their fear, Marius, and it kills me to think that I'm the cause. They're afraid to joke with me, afraid to contradict me…Jehan's just plain _afraid _of me. And I…" he broke off.

"Give them time, Enjolras. They need to get used to seeing a new side of you. Oh…and maybe if you did not sulk and then snap at people for no reason, they wouldn't fear you so," Marius suggested.

A small smile ghosted across Enjolras' face as he replied, "Bossuet is incorrigible."

"Be that as it may, don't let him get to you. He means nothing by it," Marius retorted.

Enjolras didn't reply to this; he merely said, "I need to be alone for a while. If anyone is brave enough to talk to me, I'll be downstairs."

Marius stared after him as he walked away and sighed, wondering if it was really possible to change him. He then went to rejoin the others.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you to all the reviewers! I'm glad you like the story. And I once again apologize for the OOC ness. I write what I feel, and sometimes my versions of the characters are not exactly true to the book. **

**Disclaimer: Nope. Still don't own. **

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter Three**

Seeing Enjolras leave, Combeferre and Courfeyrac had come back over and Jehan had moved off of Feuilly, although he laid his head on Feuilly's shoulder, much to the other man's chagrin.

"Shove off, Jehan," he muttered.

"But Sebastian, I was up late completing a poem…and you happen to be more comfortable than the table," Prouvaire replied. Feuilly let out a resigned sigh but didn't press the matter as Marius came back to sit at the table.

Courfeyrac immediately slung an arm around his shoulders. "Pontmercy! Haven't seen you around for a while!" Marius gave him a feeble smile.

"I'm astonished that he let you touch him," Combeferre stated, and there was no question who "he" was. "How did you manage it?"

"How? Mostly by promising that I would never do anything to hurt him…because I have a feeling he has been hurt before. I'm guessing emotionally, and I'm guessing that he let somebody get too close to him; somebody who later betrayed him. And so he's alone, because he feels safer that way. And, without really meaning to, he drives others away because he feels like he can never belong. At least, that's my opinion on the matter," Marius finished.

"You're very perceptive, M. Pontmercy," Combeferre said quietly. "And that was either the bravest or the most foolish promise you could have made to Apollo."

"How long have you known him?" Something in Combeferre's voice told Marius that he knew more than he was saying.

Combeferre smiled. "Perceptive indeed. Apollo and I have known each other since we were young. I can see why he's taken to you, Marius; you're a lot like him…at least, you would be, if he had not changed. I don't really know when it happened, precisely, but soon before we left for university, he started to become more distant. He would not confide in me anymore, and he no longer talked about his old friends.

"I worry about him; I've tried countless times to bring him back, but have never had any success. You, however, have made remarkable strides in reforming him, and seeing how this is the case, it is a task I bestow upon you, Marius Pontmercy," he concluded, standing.

"I accept, of course," Marius inclined his head.

"Brave devil," Bossuet muttered.

"Bossuet, be civil. You should have seen Apollo this morning; nicest person to talk to when he's in a fair mood," Feuilly put in.

"Which is rare," Lesgles added.

"Sébastien?" Prouvaire asked quietly, "What do you think it would be like…living a life where nobody can reach you; living in a world where you're perpetually alone?"

"Honestly, Jehan, I hope I never have to answer that question, and I doubt that you will, either," Feuilly replied. "And do you know why that is? It is because you have friends."

"It is because I have _you,_" Jehan countered, and Feuilly turned a very odd shade of red.

"Cobe now, Feuilly, dob't be so embarrassed. It's do secret dat you're quite dashig," Joly supplied.

"Yes, apparently I've missed the memo," Feuilly muttered. "Although Apollo, at least, agrees with you. He told me so this morning."

"Apollo bestowed a compliment upon you? That's lofty indeed. He _must _have been in a rare mood," Bossuet looked almost shocked.

"Question," Marius broke in. "His first name isn't actually 'Apollo,' is it?"

"Nobody knows. He won't tell us; he hasn't even told Combeferre, and they've been friends for years," Courfeyrac explained. "Apollo's simply a name Bossuet came up with…"

"Because he's a god," Lesgles finished, striking a pose which was probably intended to look heroic, but only had the effect of making him look foolish.

"Well, seeing as how breakfast has not yet arrived, I think I will go downstairs and have a talk with our resident god," Combeferre stated, walking toward the stairs and going down. He found Enjolras sitting at the counter, staring off into space. "Apollo?"

Enjolras didn't move, but he replied, "André. What are they discussing?"

"Nothing of import. Mostly how Jehan fancies Feuilly…and what your real first name is," Combeferre replied.

"I'm afraid I cannot help them with that," Enjolras sighed.

"It seems strange, does it not, that you would not know?"

"Not with my father. My entire life, I've just been 'Enjolras' to him. My mother…sometimes it seems as if she almost says my name by accident, but she always catches herself. I asked my father, once, and he told me, 'all you have to know is that you are an Enjolras. That is enough for me; it will be enough for you.' Sometimes, André, I wonder if he even knows _his _first name.

"So that is all I am. Not a person; merely a name. A name that is expected to go into a noble profession, make ridiculous amounts of money, and, above all, CARRY ON THE NAME. I fear my father will be disappointed," he smiled wryly.

"Enjolras, you cannot live the way your father wants…"

"Oh, believe me, André, I'm not. If he found out I was the leader of a revolutionary group of students, I don't know what he would do…aside from promptly disowning me, that is," Enjolras replied. "But this is all beside the point. What did you really come to talk to me about?"

Combeferre sighed and sat at the counter. "You know what it's about, Apollo."

"I know you want to help, André, but you cannot. I look at you, and I see who I used to be, when we were close…when we were friends," Enjolras finished quietly.

"As far as I am concerned, Enjolras, we never stopped being friends," Combeferre replied indignantly.

Enjolras shook his head. "And as far as I am concerned, Combeferre, in order to have friends, you must first _be _a friend. I am nobody's friend; therefore, I have none," he explained. "After all, friends made me what I am today." Combeferre knew Enjolras well enough to know that he would explain everything in his own time, and never if he felt pressed, so the other man said nothing. "I fear the only person who can help me now is…"

"Marius." Combeferre supplied.

"There's something about him…"

"Of course. He's much as you were…before…" Combeferre trailed off.

"I was never that much of a dreamer," Enjolras countered, making Combeferre smile. They were silent for a time after that, until Enjolras said, "I know what it is you want, André, but I cannot give it to you. It's too painful for me."

"And what about me, Apollo? Do you ever think about how I feel? It hurts me, too, seeing you this way…" His voice was progressively getting louder, but he took a deep breath and calmed himself down before adding, "I miss you."

"I know. And I miss you, too. I miss the time we spent together back home. I miss our talks. I miss having somebody to confide in; somebody I could tell everything to…" he broke off, his voice catching. "Go away, André. It would tarnish my reputation if anybody saw me cry."

"Enjolras…I'm not leaving you now. Not after everything we've been through. And I would hope that you would still feel comfortable enough to confide in me…to even let me comfort you. You let Marius, and you barely even know him," Combeferre couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Enjolras glanced at him. "You saw? Well, no matter. The boy means me no harm."

"And neither do I." Combeferre could feel the tears coming to his eyes, now. "I'm not afraid of you, Apollo; you're not a god! You're human, as I am! Now, start acting like one!" he yelled.

Enjolras looked up in shock. This wasn't like Combeferre at all. He was the rational one; Enjolras acted on impulse. He must have been concerned, to lose it like this. And he was right, too. Enjolras hadn't considered how much he was hurting his friends by drawing into himself. Maybe if he let the other in…they didn't mean him any harm; that was true. He ran a hand through his hair, utterly confused.

"We all love you, Enjolras. If you want Marius to be the one to help you, so be it, but do _not _shut me out of your life. We've been friends for too long for me to just forget what we used to have. Can't…can't we just…" he broke down, burying his face in his hands.

Enjolras stared at him in mute amazement. Combeferre never acted like this…hadn't had a breakdown since they were children. Then, Enjolras had always been there to tell him it would be all right. Why did that have to change? None of it was André's fault; he had always been loyal no matter what anyone else said. Maybe it was even harder on him than it had been on Enjolras himself. But right now, André needed a friend…no, he didn't even need that. He just needed Enjolras back.

Forgetting all of his doubt, Enjolras wrapped his arms around the other man, tears now streaming down his face as well. Combeferre stiffened in surprise, but then he relaxed into the younger man's embrace, thankful that the old Enjolras was still in there somewhere. He started chuckling suddenly, then, despite the tears.

"What is it?" Enjolras asked.

"Oh, just that the two of us must make a fine picture. Two grown men, crying their eyes out in the middle of a wine shop." Enjolras started laughing, too. He couldn't remember the last time he had done that, and it felt good.

He let go of the other man, but still rested a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, André, for talking some sense into me. I needed that."

Combeferre smiled. "Anytime, my friend. We…are friends again, right?"

"Even though I may not have admitted it, we've always been friends. And I'm sorry…for snapping at you this morning. But revolutions are fickle things, and I want to give us a chance. If we rush out blindly, we'll all just be killed. I don't want to lose you…any of you. You all mean more to me than you'll ever know," he said seriously.

"Even Grantaire?" Combeferre asked, a gleam in his eyes.

Enjolras let out a resigned sigh. "Yes, even Grantaire."

"And I must apologize, too, for acting without thinking. I know how much a revolution would mean to you, but I did not consider the consequences. You are right; we cannot act rashly," Combeferre admitted.

"That, _mon ami_, is why I am the leader and you are the philosopher," Enjolras jibed. "So…Prouvaire and Feuilly?"

"Indeed. Not sure how Feuilly is taking the whole affair, but our poet seems quite smitten," Combeferre replied.

"'Tis fitting, though. Just this morning, Feuilly was saying that he would never want a mistress. His explanation was that he could never afford one, but now I wonder…well, it does not really concern us, I suppose," Enjolras shrugged.

"Being inquisitive is not a crime, Apollo. But what of your own love life?" Combeferre inquired.

"Come now, André, you know I have had a mistress for years. Her name is _Patria_ and I love her dearly," Enjolras replied soberly.

"It must be hard, not to have a mistress who will never return that love?" Combeferre mused.

"I have never asked her to give me anything in return. No, Combeferre, no woman for me. I hear them talk of me in passing, of course, but I would never put anybody in a position where the only way it can end is in grief. Eventually, I will die for _Patria_. Knowing this, how could I selfishly drag another into the maelstrom with me?" he asked, a cold fire burning in his eyes.

"What if you found somebody who would be willing to face the end with you; somebody who believes as you do?" Combeferre asked quietly.

"Are you referring to yourself, André?"

"Not just myself; all of us. You will die for _Patria,_ Apollo, but we will die for you."

"I suggest you stop now, unless you wish to see me cry twice in one day," Enjolras replied.

Combeferre never had a chance to say more, however, because the door opened and Bahorel entered with a cheery, "Good morning to all! I don't suppose there's still a chance for a hungry man to get a bit of breakfast, is there?"

"Indeed you are in luck, Bahorel. Breakfast has not yet arrived, but I would suggest you make your way upstairs soon, or you will miss out," Combeferre answered. "However, I am surprised you are awake and on your feet, after last night. How do you feel?"

"Not at all bad, considering. When I awoke, however, Grantaire was still fast asleep. I did not have the heart to wake him, you see. But come! I smell food; therefore, I must eat." He headed up the stairs.

"Shall we?" Combeferre asked. Enjolras nodded, and the two men went back up. Marius was leaning against the wall by the staircase, and he nodded to them as they passed. Enjolras turned to the younger man.

"You want to talk?"

"I just wanted to know how you are."

"Better. Much better, in fact. André and I should have had that conversation years ago."

"I'm glad to hear it. But I suggest we join the others if we want to have any hope of eating this morning," Marius put in.

"My thoughts precisely," Enjolras agreed, and the two went to eat their breakfast.


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay…thank you for the wonderful reviews, first of all. Next chapter…probably more OOCness, and I apologize, and the angsty part is the result of too much Evanescence late at night. I was quite happy with it, though. Enjoy! **

**Chapter Four**

It was in July of 1830, and Marius and Enjolras were walking back to Café Musain one afternoon because Marius had forgotten his cravat there during the previous night's meeting. The two had become as close as everyone hoped they would, and Enjolras was clearly starting to loosen up. True, he still had moments when he became Apollo, but nobody seemed to be bothered by it any more. Even Jehan seemed somewhat less afraid of him.

As they neared the café, Enjolras spotted a familiar girl on the street. " 'Ponine!" he called.

The girl looked up, her face alight, and swiftly ran over. "Good afternoon M'sieur Enjolras; M'sieur Marius!" she chirped.

"Marius, this is 'Ponine…"

"Éponine, actually. But I would very much like it if you _would _call me 'Ponine," she added. "Unfortunately, my father expects me, so I cannot stay. Say hello to my brother if you see him. Goodbye!" she flitted away down the road.

"She seems nice," Marius commented as they entered the café.

"I think so. But now…what is that?" Enjolras pointed to a bundle of rags huddled against the wall in a corner of the meeting room. The bundle, upon hearing this, looked up. It was Feuilly.

"Feuilly! What are you doing here?" Marius asked.

"Alas, gentlemen, I fear to inform you that I have been evicted. No, that is a lie; I left. But had I not left, I should have been evicted. My noble landlord, you see, decided it was to his advantage to raise the rent, and I, barely being able to afford the previous price, certainly cannot pay the new one. I say the poor can better themselves, and where have I ended up? Back where I started. Kind of ironic, is it not?" he glanced up with a half-smile.

"Feuilly, if there is anything we can do to help…" Marius knelt beside the other man, who merely shook his head.

"The offer is appreciated, Marius, but I could never accept charity from you. You barely have more than I."

"Ah, fellow citizens! I hoped I would find you here!" Prouvaire entered the room.

"You were looking for us, Jehan?" Enjolras asked.

"Yes; indeed! You see, I have discovered this marvelous restaurant down by the river, and seeing as how my parents have seen fit to send me extra money this month, I am taking you all out to dinner!" He exclaimed. "Bossuet and Joly are meeting us here soon, and the others will join up with us there," he added. He then noticed Feuilly. "Sébastien! My, don't you look depressed. Whatever is the matter?"

"Oh, nothing to concern yourself with, my friend," the fan-maker replied. "But I am afraid I have no place to call home at the moment."

"But that is easily remedied! You shall come live with me as my guest!" Jehan was beaming.

"Jehan, I would never want to impose…"

"Believe me, you would not be imposing."

"At least let me pay you for…"

"Sébastien, you are far too unwilling to accept charity. Haven't you always said, 'Being poor is not a crime; refusing to help the poor is?' But, I am afraid we must share a bed. Mother and Father will not allow me another one. According to them, roommates and mistresses only distract one from their studies. The bed is a fair size," he added hastily.

Feuilly paled a bit at this and stammered, "I…I do not think this will work, Jehan…"

Prouvaire looked a little crestfallen by this statement, but he brightened suddenly and replied, "I know why you're so tentative. You've been listening to Bossuet. For some reason, I think he believes I fancy you."

"Well? Is it true?" Feuilly stood up and stared at the poet, who hastily dropped his gaze.

"I…don't feel comfortable revealing that information," he said softly.

Feuilly tipped Jehan's chin up so their eyes met and said, "Jehan, your answer will not affect my decision. I just want the truth…as a friend."

Prouvaire gulped. "Yes. Maybe. I…I do not know. It's wrong. Isn't it?" he stammered out.

Feuilly shook his head. "As I said, it does not matter to me. But I accept your offer. And thank you." He smiled and Jehan tentatively returned the smile.

"Well, perhaps they will end up together after all," Marius whispered to Enjolras.

"And why not? Everyone deserves to be with those that make them happy," the other man replied. Marius nodded, and at that moment, Joly and Lesgles burst through the door.

"Gentlemen, Bossuet says I look like a…like…oh, what did you call it?" Joly ranted, for once seeming to be in good health.

"A foppish dandy," Bossuet replied. "What with the new hat and the cane and all."

"I rather like it, personally," Jehan commented.

"Jehan Prouvaire, you are quite possible the worst dresser in all of Paris; therefore, your opinion does not count," Joly snapped.

Prouvaire shrugged, as he was not easily offended.

"Jolllly, dearest, you never let me finish," Lesgles cut in. "Yes, you look like a foppish dandy, but I completely approve. It's quite charming, really."

"Do you think so?" Joly's anger seemed to have disappeared.

"Indeed. And Bahorel has told me that _Staub's_ is selling these wonderful doeskin pantaloons. If you were to buy a pair and wear them with this outfit…why, Musichetta would positively adore you for it!" Bossuet exclaimed.

Joly glanced sideways at the older man. "Tell the truth, Bossuet. Who would approve of the outfit more, Musichetta or you?"

Lesgles glared at Joly and responded, "You, Joly, are an ingrate."

Joly ignored him and said, "You must forgive my earlier outburst, Jehan. I had no right to say what I did."

"Oh, there is nothing to forgive, for it is quite possibly true. My fashion sense, alas, is sadly lacking," Prouvaire admitted.

"Not to worry, Jehan. If we're to be living together, the least I can do is help match up your clothing," Feuilly offered, placing his hand on Prouvaire's shoulder.

"Really, Sébastien? I would dearly appreciate it," Prouvaire smiled. "But come! or we shall be later for dinner!"

Dinner was a jovial affair. The talk was light, at least until Bahorel mentioned, "Have you all heard talk of the impending émeute?"

Enjolras straightened up in his chair, the old fire springing almost immediately to his eyes. Marius, sitting beside him, hastily touched the other man's arm, but Enjolras shot him a look that told Marius he wasn't interested in starting anything. Indeed, all he said was: "It will fail."

"Come, Apollo, have a glass of wine. Free your mind from these weighty matters," Grantaire proclaimed, receiving a frosty glare from the other.

"They claim it to be well thought out and quite capable of succeeding," Bahorel pressed.

"Bahorel, please, leave well enough alone, unless you wish to go out and get killed," Combeferre said brusquely.

"Is that it, then? If all you boys are waiting for is the right moment to die, I hardly see that it matters," Grantaire leaned back in his chair and took a swig from the wine bottle. "I mean, what have you got to live for? Love? Love is for the weak. It will come back to haunt you. So go; go and die. Nobody's stopping you."

"You're drunk, Grantaire," Courfeyrac put in.

"Naturally. But, see here, my friends, drink can never hurt you like a jealous lover. You may think it wonderful, but all lovers are good for is breaking hearts. Think of what history and the great writers have shown us! Paris and Helen; started a ten-year-long war and destroyed Troy with their affair. Hamlet and Ophelia; she went mad and drowned herself and he got killed. Romeo and Juliet; both ended up dying. Lovers…" he paused to take another swallow of wine before he started again. "Lovers will be your downfall. No, gentlemen, true love does not exist, and nothing will ever…"

"Shut UP!" Prouvaire sprang out of his seat with a yell, his countenance wild. He abruptly turned on his heel and stalked out of the restaurant.

Feuilly glared at Grantaire. "Don't you ever know when to quit?" he snapped before running after Prouvaire with a shout of, "Jehan! Wait!"

Grantaire, oblivious to all of this, simply stared at his wine bottle sadly, murmuring, "It is empty. I must order another."

Enjolras could feel his temper starting to boil over, so he jerked his head in a motion that implied Marius should follow him and walked out, going to lean on the railing overlooking the river.

Marius sighed and went to stand beside the other man. "Enjolras, you mustn't let him get to you." He hated when Enjolras relapsed into what he used to be, but usually he snapped out of it. This time, he seemed well and truly gone.

"It isn't that, Marius. What worries me is…he's right. True love does not exist. We are all destined to end up alone, rotting in the ground somewhere. What is the use of living? Nothing good comes out of it. You would die for me, you claim, but you will be dead nonetheless." He said all of this in a half-whisper, a faraway look in his eyes. "It would be so easy to end it…to step over the railing and drop into the Seine…to leave it all behind… " He closed his eyes.

Marius stared at his friend in horror. He had never talked about suicide before. He wasn't quite sure how to respond to the other man when he was in this mood.

Enjolras' fingers clenched and unclenched almost mechanically on the railing. "Leave it all behind…" he whispered, and Marius saw that his eyes were completely void of life. "How can the darkness feel so….right?" He stared into the inky black water.

"Stop it!" Marius hissed, although it came out harsher than he intended. "Can you even hear yourself? You're talking of suicide, Enjolras! What of the people? What of the republic? Who will lead us, if you are not here…if you give up?" Enjolras turned his blank stare on the other man. Marius was a bit shocked at his own vehemence, and especially at the fact that he had just included himself as being willing to fight for a republic. Up until that moment, he wasn't sure, but now he realized that he was willing to give everything up for a chance to be free. "Come back, Enjolras. We need you. I…need you," Marius admitted. "Whatever's got hold of you, fight it! I know you can. And Grantaire is wrong. True love does exist. You have friends who love you…you know this, I know you do!"

Enjolras heard all this as if through a tunnel. It made sense…André had said similar things. He wasn't ready to give it up, not really. But still… "Marius, you talk of love. Do you love me?" His voice was toneless.

For an answer, Marius embraced the other man, not caring who saw. Enjolras blinked in surprise, and Marius saw the light return to his eyes. "Welcome back. I was afraid I'd lost you for good."

"Marius…" Enjolras staggered and leaned heavily into Marius, who found himself supporting much of the other man's weight. "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing, my friend. You're learning; you're healing. It may take a while, but I want you to promise that if you ever feel like jumping into the Seine again, you'll tell me first," Marius replied.

"I believe that trusting you was one of the best decisions I've ever made. You may have just saved my life, Marius," Enjolras replied seriously, but then he added, "And do not worry; I do not think I shall be tempted to end up in a watery grave again. Had you not been here, though, I fear to think of what might have happened," he shuddered.

"It's a good thing I was here, then. But do no dwell on it; the shadow has passed, and, with any luck, it shall not return, but…"

"Stay at my place tonight," Enjolras broke in. "I…I am not sure I trust myself to be alone right now. It would be a comfort to have you near."

Marius smiled. "Of course, my friend." He turned to see Combeferre exiting the restaurant, and the philosopher made his way over to them.

"Gentlemen, I would suggest that the next time you feel it necessary to display your affections, you do so where you will not traumatize the general public," he said with a wry smile.

Marius blushed as Enjolras moved away from him and replied, "Oh, hush, André. M. Pontmercy just saved my life."

"What? How?" Combeferre looked concerned.

"I had a date with the rapids, but he convinced me not to go."

Combeferre glanced sideways at Enjolras, but his expression was unreadable. "Ah. I see. Well, it was fortunate for you that Marius is quite persuasive." Combeferre gave Marius a grateful smile. "But, as I believe dinner is over, why don't we head home?"

The others agreed, and the three started off. As they walked, Combeferre mentioned, "I don't believe I have ever seen Prouvaire that angry. Usually he seems to ignore other's comments, even if he disagrees, but tonight…"

"Grantaire needs to learn tact," Enjolras supplied. "Most of the time he's so drunk that he's oblivious to anything around him. Jehan is just beginning to discovers what he feels is love, and I believe what Grantaire was saying did not inspire a lot of hope in our young poet."

At that moment, there was a loud 'bang' from a few streets away. Marius jumped. "What was that?"

Combeferre looked at Enjolras. "Grape shot?"

Enjolras nodded in agreement. "Cannons. It seems the émeute has begun."


	5. Chapter 5

**So, I only got one review for the last chapter…(frowns)…and in response to your question, yes, that was the Louis Phillipe one, but it does not have to be in order for this story to work. In fact, it probably shouldn't be, because the one in the story is not supposed to be really important. Êmeutes happened quite often at that time in Paris, so it should just be a small one. Hope this helps! Enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: I own my brain. I don't own _Les Miz_. **

**Chapter Five**

They were now close to Combeferre's place; he lived a mere two streets from Enjolras. He walked up the steps, turned around, and asked, "Will the two of you be in for breakfast tomorrow?"

"With any luck," Enjolras replied. As he was saying this, a voice shouted, "Enjolras! Marius! Combeferre!"

They turned to see Feuilly and Jehan staggering down the street. Half of Prouvaire's coat appeared to have a rapidly growing red stain on it.

"Feuilly! What happened?" Marius ran over to help get Jehan to the stairs.

"Fool poet ran right into the émeute," Feuilly muttered. "Thank God I found you three. Combeferre, you were a surgeon, were you not?"

"Indeed. Bring him to my room. How bad is it?" Combeferre inquired.

Feuilly shook his head. "I don't know for sure. I think the bullet only grazed his shoulder, but it's impossible to tell. Idiot." He murmured the last in a quiet and almost endearing tone.

"Don't fuss over me. I'm fine," Prouvaire started, but then he groaned and clapped a hand over his shoulder. "Ruined my best coat, though."

Combeferre hurried inside to open up his room while Feuilly and Marius helped Jehan up the stairs. Enjolras followed.

Combeferre ushered them in and sat Jehan on a chair, removing his jacket and pulling his shirt back to look at the wound. He sighed in relief. "It looks worse than it is. We'll just get you cleaned up and bandage that, and everything should be fine. But," he asked, as he searched for the bandages, "What were you doing near the émeute?" Enjolras, meanwhile, had filled a bowl with water and placed a wet cloth in it. He handed the bowl to Combeferre, who nodded his thanks, and then went to go sit beside Marius.

"One thing I've learned over the course of the years: Never interrupt a surgeon when he's working," he remarked.

"I wasn't paying attention where I was going," Jehan answered Combeferre's earlier question. "Ouch! That stings!" he yelped as Combeferre began washing his shoulder. When the other man said nothing, Jehan continued, "I guess I was so mad at Grantaire that I lost track of what was happening around me." He paused and then looked up. "What he said about love…it isn't true, is it?"

"Of course not. Love exists. But how can a man like him expect to find it if he's never even looked for it?" Feuilly replied. "No, he knows nothing of love. He only loves his bottle." They were silent after this, although from time to time they could hear cannon blasts from across the city.

"There." Combeferre stood up and washed his hands in the bowl. "That should heal up just fine, Jehan. But for tonight, why don't you and Feuilly stay here? It's getting a little perilous out on the streets."

"How long do you think it will last?" Prouvaire stood up and crossed to the window. Feuilly followed, and the two stared out at the dark street.

"Not very." Enjolras leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "Paris isn't angry enough to care."

"When will she ever be?" Feuilly wondered aloud.

"Someday. Someday when something momentous occurs; something she won't forget," Enjolras replied.

Combeferre turned to stare at Enjolras, but he didn't say anything. Enjolras looked up to meet his gaze. "What?"

"You know 'what,' Apollo."

"What am I supposed to tell you?"

"Oh, merely what possessed you to be so idiotic," Combeferre snapped.

"You don't know what it's like to be me. You have no idea what my life has been like." Enjolras stood up, and the room went silent, because when he was angry, he never yelled. His voice simply became deathly quiet.

"Maybe if you would tell me, I would know," Combeferre lowered his voice.

Enjolras shook his head. "You would never understand."

"Try me."

For a response, Enjolras turned on his heel and walked out. Marius, although he wanted to follow, knew better than to approach the man when he was in a foul temper. And he really didn't think Enjolras would be foolish enough to contemplate suicide again; the man just needed to be alone for a time. Combeferre sighed and sank down on the bed, muttering, "And I thought we were making progress with him."

"We are," Marius cut in. "He just needs time."

"I'm sorry, Marius. I shouldn't have started with him…"

"No, you were only concerned. There's no crime in that," Marius replied.

"What happened?" Feuilly asked. "What did he do?"

Marius briefly explained what had happened outside the restaurant. Prouvaire looked a little taken aback, but Feuilly nodded almost thoughtfully.

"How can somebody even think of ending their own life?" Prouvaire asked quietly. "Suicide sends your soul straight to Hades; he knows that."

"It's merely as he said," Marius replied. "We cannot say what was running through his head."

"A heart of ice and a soul of fire," Prouvaire murmured. "It think I may just write a poem about it. My muse seems to have been asleep of late," he added.

Combeferre lay back on the bed and said, "I'm such a fool. I _know _better than to press him, and now he's angry with me…and he holds grudges an awful long time."

Marius went to sit on the bed beside the other man. "He knows you mean well and that you care about him, Combeferre. He won't stay mad for long."

"You haven't known him as long as I have. For him, that's about as frustrated as he can get. Apollo is a god, after all." He smiled wryly. "I suppose I shall have to pray for his forgiveness."

Marius reached out and lightly touched the other man's shoulder. "I'll talk to him. He may look like a god, but he's only human." Marius, of course, was of a like mind that Enjolras was something more than mortal, but he did not voice this aloud in order to ease Combeferre's fears.

"Sometimes I wonder…" Prouvaire mused aloud.

"Believe me, I have never seen him so vulnerable as he was tonight," Marius stared at the ceiling. "It was almost as if he had completely lost the will to live."

"Do you know what started it?" Feuilly asked.

"Not exactly, but somehow I believe that Grantaire's drunken tirade reminded him of the part of his past he would rather forget. For a time, I was truly worried that I would not be able to get him back," Marius admitted. "But, I should go and make sure that he is alright. I'll see you at breakfast?"

Combeferre nodded, and Marius left his room, walking the two blocks back to Enjolras' place slowly, trying to gauge what mood the older man would be in when he got there. Reaching the building, he tried the door and, as it was open, went inside. Enjolras was lying on the couch, his eyes closed. His shirt was halfway unbuttoned, and his coat and cravat were discarded on the floor.

Marius studied him thoughtfully for a moment. Asleep, he looked little like a revolutionary leader. He looked young, little more than a boy, with his fine features, and decidedly angelic. Hardly the man who had stormed out of Combeferre's apartment just a short time before.

Marius took off his coat and hung it by the door, and Enjolras sat up and glanced at him.

"Combeferre is worried you might be angry with him. Are you?" Marius sat down in the chair that was next to the couch.

"No; of course not. André needs to learn not to be so frightened of me. He has a right to know, I suppose, but I don't feel ready to talk about it, yet," Enjolras replied.

"He said something about having to 'pray for your forgiveness,'" Marius added with a smile.

"That would certainly be like him. Even though Bossuet is the one who started calling me 'Apollo,' Combeferre seems to call me that more often than anyone else," he explained. He glanced up and noticed his outer garments in a heap on the floor. "Although I must have been furious when I came in. Didn't even bother to hang my things up." He shrugged and lay back on the couch. "You can have the bed, if you want."

"Only if you promise not to try and sleep at my place again. Although I guess I should be thankful it's July," Marius responded.

"No, I shan't put myself through that again. And besides, going to your house means passing through the émeute. I have no desire to get shot." He glanced up at Marius, who was staring at him with an odd expression. "What?"

"I find it hard to believe you."

"Why?"

"Because of who you are, my friend," Marius moved onto the couch. "Although, provided you fall asleep first, I don't think I'll have much to worry about."

"Marius…alright. I'm going to bed, then. Don't stay up too late." He closed his eyes, thinking that for once it felt nice to have somebody who cared about him. Marius was a rare person, and he was thankful that their paths had crossed, even if the boy was not completely devoted to their cause. He fell asleep quickly, tired out from the day's events.

He woke up when a beam of July sunlight passed over his face. He started to sit up when he realized that Marius, true to his word, hadn't even moved to the bed. The boy had fallen asleep with his head resting on Enjolras' chest, and as particular as he was about others touching him, he was surprised to realize that this didn't bother him. Maybe it was simply because of the promise Marius had made, or just the fact that he _did _trust him.

"Marius…" he said softly, so as not to frighten the other. Marius yawned and opened his eyes, starting to sit up quickly when he noticed where he was, but Enjolras placed a hand on his back to stop him. Marius looked at him questioningly.

"You aren't bothered by it?" he asked.

"Surprisingly, no. I don't believe I could tell you why, though," Enjolras replied.

"Oh. Well, it's for the best, I suppose. You're rather comfortable to sleep on. Feeling better this morning?"

"Daylight always soothes the soul," Enjolras stated. "As I said before, I never claimed to have a great store of common sense. Perhaps that is why André and I get along so well; he has more common sense than anybody I know."

"Well, that is certainly the truth," Marius agreed. "What's the time?"

Enjolras glanced at his watch. "8:30."

"Hmm. Too early to leave if we want a free breakfast."

"You can go. I believe I will opt out of breakfast this morning. Knowing them, I may get asked a lot of questions I will not want to answer," Enjolras replied.

"Once again, your judge of character is infallible," Marius smiled.

"Stop it. I hardly need your flattery." He blinked. "Why does that beam of sunlight have to be right where my eyes are?"

"You tell me. You _are _the sun god, Apollo," Marius jibed.

"You know, Marius, none of the others would ever joke with me the way you do," Enjolras sighed.

"Maybe they have more cause to be afraid of you. Myself, I see no reason why I should fear you. Respect you, naturally, but not fear you. Speaking of which, what would the others say if one of them came in and saw us like this?" Marius wondered aloud.

Enjolras snorted in response. "They'd think they were hallucinating, naturally. I _am _untouchable, you know." He was silent for a moment before asking, "Marius?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you ever been in love?"

"You mean, with a woman?" He paused for a moment and then replied, "No, I can't really say that I have. There's this one girl…she's often down in the Luxembourg with her father, and I _have _noticed her. Not that she's all that pretty, now, but then she's young. Perhaps one day she'll become a swan. But love? No. Why do you ask?"

"No reason. I was merely curious."

"Ah." Enjolras could tell that Marius was skeptical, but he said nothing more. At that moment, there was a knock on the door. "Do you want to test your theory?" Marius asked, a gleam in his eyes.

"About their reactions?" Enjolras shrugged, but then he called, "Come in!"

The door opened and Courfeyrac entered, followed by Feuilly. "And so, I said to him…_Mon Dieu, _what happened here last night?" he choked out. "And was there alcohol involved, because this is certainly not normal!"

Feuilly shook his head, but he was smiling. "Marius simply dreams up ways to calm Apollo's temper that the rest of us wouldn't dare to try," he replied.

"Well, for once, I truly can't believe my eyes," Courfeyrac added.

"Come now, François, do not appear so mortified. If I may be so bold to ask…what, exactly, is wrong with this?" Enjolras gestured.

"It's…well, it's…so maybe there's nothing _wrong _with it, per say, but I _am _interested to find out how the two of you ended up like that in the first place," Courfeyrac replied.

"Is that all? Oh, I fell asleep on the couch and Marius, while watching over me to ensure I did not do anything foolish, happened to fall asleep as well. I assure you, François, it was completely innocent." Marius nodded his agreement.

"Normally, I would call that an inventive alibi, but seeing as how it is you…I believe you," Courfeyrac nodded. "Now, can the two of you kindly let go of each other so we can go to breakfast?"

"Do you want me to stay here?" Marius asked.

"No; go ahead." Marius nodded and got off the couch. "How is André, Feuilly? Does he still believe that I am angry with him?"

"I'm afraid I cannot answer that, Enjolras. He was no longer in the room when I awoke. Jehan, however, is waiting outside. I believe he is afraid you will spit fire at him," Feuilly smiled.

"Would you be so kind as to tell him that I am not capable of it, and assure André that I bear him no ill will?" Feuilly nodded. "I would come myself, you see, but I have no desire to listen to Bahorel's émeute-mongering or Grantaire's rants quite so early in the day," Enjolras added.

"Well, I cannot blame you for that," Courfeyrac smiled. "But come, breakfast will not wait forever…and neither will Jehan." The last was obviously for Feuilly.

Feuilly shook his head. "Will you let well enough alone?" he asked before walking out.

"One day, gentlemen! One day, we shall get them to admit their true feelings," Courfeyrac proclaimed, following Feuilly out.

"Well, I suppose I shall see you later," Marius turned to Enjolras.

"Indeed. And Marius…thank you."

Marius smiled. "Of course. Anytime, _mes ami_," he replied, before walking out the door.


	6. Chapter 6

**So, it's a little shorter than the others, but that is because there is _conflict! _Muah-hah-hah! Erm…I'm really a very positive person, but my angst-y side certainly shows through in my stories. Well, anyway…enjoy, _mes ami! _**

**Disclaimer: Shouldn't need to say it, but it's still not mine. **

**Chapter Six**

It was late that same night, and Enjolras was walking through the empty streets of Paris to Marius' place. The émeute, true to his word, was all but over, and most of Paris hardly seemed to have acknowledged its existence.

As he neared the Gorbeaux building, someone grabbed him from behind and he found himself pinned to a wall. "And just where are you off to so late at night? The streets are dangerous, you know," a voice hissed.

The darkness made it impossible to see more than a vague shadow, but Enjolras could tell there were two of them. He also knew that he was stronger than most people gave him credit more, and that if he got the upper hand, he could overpower the other man. "Dangerous, perhaps, but then, we are all dangerous in our own way," he replied. "However, I do not believe you will find anything on value on my person, if that is what you are seeking."

"You expect me to believe that?" the other man asked, and Enjolras realized a moment too late that he should have been watching the other man's hand instead of his face. He barely felt the knife enter his chest, but he heard a shrill scream from further down the street. The other man, as surprised by the yell as he, pulled the knife out and shoved Enjolras back, causing him to lose consciousness as his head connected with the brick wall. His limp body fell to the ground.

The two robbers, alarmed by the scream, faced the one who had uttered it. "WHAT DID YOU DO?!" A young girl yelled. She ran over and bent down beside Enjolras. "You…he's not dead, is he? You better not have killed him, 'Parnasse!"

Montparnasse, holding the bloody knife, seemed at a loss for words. "'Ponine…what…how…you know him?"

Éponine nodded as the man in the shadow said calmly, "Montparnasse, we must hurry. Babet and Brujon will be waiting. Leave the _feé1_ and the _Pantinois2_. There will be plenty of other fools for us to rob."

"You can't just leave him! He's…my friend!" Éponine said, standing and staring down Montparnasse.

Let it be said that Montparnasse, bandit though he was, was still human, and possessed that very human attribute known as a conscience. The truth of the matter was that he rather liked (and, to some extent, felt sorry for) Éponine. He was about to reply when the shadow asked:

"And it we help you and risk failing3, what then?"

Éponine looked pleadingly at Montparnasse, but the young man shook his head. "Claquesous is right, 'Ponine. I could never risk it. You'll have to save this man by yourself." He took a deep breath and uttered two words that he had never said before that night and most likely had never said since. "I'm sorry"

"Montparnasse! _Décarrons!4_" the shadow commanded, and the two took off down the street. Éponine was frozen for a mere moment before she rushed into the house, pounding on Marius' door.

"M'sieur Marius! M'sieur Marius!" she called, and the student opened the door, blinking when he saw the girl.

"Éponine! What is it?"

She made no response; merely motioned for him to follow. He did, and when he saw what she was leading him to, he felt his heart skip a beat. "_Mon Dieu_…" he whispered, but then he came back to his senses. "Éponine, do you know this address?" he quickly told her where Combeferre lived. She thought about it for a minute and nodded, and Marius continued, "Go into the house; second room on the left. A man named André Combeferre. He was a surgeon; he can help. Tell him to bring medical supplies. And hurry!"

The girl didn't need to be told twice; she sped off down the road. Marius reasoned that he had to get Enjolras off the street, somehow, so he carefully pulled the other man up, thankful that he was fairly light.

Getting him up the stairs was difficult, to say the least, but Marius managed it and got Enjolras to his room, laying him on the pallet. He knew that everything was covered in blood, of course, but he hardly cared. "Please be alive…" he whispered, searching for a pulse and breathing a sigh of relief when he found it. He hardly had time to do more, however, as the door burst open, revealing Combeferre, who was panting as if he had run the whole way. And he probably had, Marius thought.

Combeferre took one look at Enjolras and staggered, exclaiming, "Dear God, what happened?"

Marius shook his head, but Éponine peeked in from behind Combeferre and replied, "_Patron-Minette." _

"Dear God!" Combeferre said again, kneeling down beside Enjolras and starting to examine the wound.

"Who or what is _Patron-Minette?" _Marius asked.

"Notorious band of robbers," Combeferre replied shortly, digging through his medical kit.

"I'm sorry; it's all my fault!" Éponine sobbed. "If I had gotten there a moment sooner, I could have stopped them!" In response to Combeferre's disbelieving look, she added, "I know them. I'm not proud of who I am, but we do what we must to survive."

As Combeferre nodded and returned to his work, Marius cleared his throat. Éponine glanced at him and he motioned to the door. She nodded and exited the room, Marius following and closing the door.

"One thing I've learned: never interrupt a surgeon when he's working," Marius stated. They were silent for a time until Éponine asked, "Will he live?"

Marius shook his head. "I'm no doctor, Éponine. I'm not the one to ask." He sighed and sank down to sit on the floor.

"Do you care about him?"

"Yes." Marius glanced at the girl. "A lot." He answered her unspoken question. "He means so much to so many, even if he is too stubborn to see it."

"What does he mean to you?"

"To me? More than I ever thought possible. He is a god, or at least a demigod; a fallen angel, maybe, but an angel nonetheless. He's a born leader; much wiser than his years. This is why a respect him. But, even more important to me, he is my friend. Does that answer your question?" He asked.

"In an odd way, but I think I understand. He's my friend, too," Marius nodded and they said nothing more until Combeferre opened the door. Marius hastily stood up.

"Well?"

Combeferre sighed. "I can't say."

"You're a surgeon!" Combeferre winced at the harshness in Marius' tone. 'I'm sorry, Combeferre…André," he amended. "I'm just…worried."

"As am I, Marius. As am I. On the surface, it appears that it should heal, but if that knife twisted going in or out…hit something vital; pierced a lung…we will not know until it is too late," the philosopher turned away. "I've seen plenty of people die in my work, Marius, but I always figured I'd die _with _him, fighting for what we both believe in. He would not want it to end like this and I…I could not imagine living without him. He's like a brother to me."

"I know," Marius gently clasped the other man's shoulder. "And to me as well. But come, let us have hope. You speak of him as if he were already gone."

"It is long since I kept any hope for myself," Combeferre turned back to face Marius, hesitating for a moment before embracing him. "But you are right, Marius. We cannot give up on him. We have to get him home. I'll find a fiacre." Combeferre released Marius and went down the stairs.

"I though M'sieur Enjolras told me that he did not have any friends. M'sieur Combeferre seemed very upset," Éponine put in.

"As I said, there are many who love him, despite what he believes." He exhaled heavily. "But don't worry, Éponine… 'Ponine," he corrected himself, causing her to smile. "Combeferre is right. He would not want it to end this way. He'll be alright, sure enough." The girl smiled, reassured, as Combeferre came back up.

"Well, I should probably go. You will tell me how he his?" Éponine asked.

"Of course," Marius replied, and she nodded and went into her room. Combeferre and Marius carried Enjolras out to the fiacre.

Marius sat on one side, propping Enjolras up, while Combeferre took the other. They were silent until they had gotten him into his apartment and Marius said, "I can look after him tonight. Go home and get some sleep." Combeferre nodded and left him alone. Marius looked up toward the ceiling and whispered a small prayer, hoping that everything would truly be all right.

It was three days later, and Marius had hardly slept. Enjolras hadn't woken up, and without its leader, their group was falling apart. Joly was bedridden and horribly ill, and Lesgles hadn't left his side. Combeferre refused to come out of his house, and Courfeyrac was over there every spare moment trying to console him. Grantaire had drunk himself into a stupor and had spent the last three days passed out in _Corinth_, and Bahorel had disappeared, as he was part of various groups and did not stick around for long if problems arose. Feuilly and Prouvaire showed up every day to visit, and they walked in to find Marius kneeling by the bed, shaking his head furiously in an effort to stay awake.

"Marius, for God's sake, get some sleep," Feuilly told him "What good are you to anybody in this state? If he's going to wake up, he'll wake up regardless of whether you are hovering over him or not."

"I tried. I can't," Marius yawned. "No matter how tired I am, I can't fall asleep."

"Well, you will just have to try again. I'm not going to be responsible for you making yourself ill. Come on." Marius allowed himself to be led over to the couch.

"You can't expect me to believe you've been sleeping perfectly either, can you?" Marius asked.

"No, but at least we have each other to talk to. You're in here all alone," Prouvaire put in, sitting on the other side of Marius.

"Mmm.." Marius leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes. "How are the others? Any better?"

"No, unfortunately. Courfeyrac's rather worried about Combeferre, I feel. He seems rather somber, which, for him, is never a good sign. Bossuet has lost none of his humor, but he is plainly concerned about Joly," Feuilly replied with a sigh.

"Who would have guessed that Apollo being injured would affect us all so much?" Jehan mused, putting an arm around Marius' shoulders. Marius leaned into the poet, yawning again, and Feuilly said, "Get some rest, Marius. We can watch over him for you."

Marius was asleep before he was done speaking.

**Okay…_argot _translation for you. **

**girl**

**essentially, Parisian man or Parisian citizen**

**getting arrested**

"**Let us go!" **


	7. Chapter 7

**Okay, so this is the second-last chapter of the story. I'm glad so many people like it! Your reviews have made me all really happy. Not much else to say, so…enjoy! **

**Chapter Seven**

Enjolras woke up, and the first sensation he was aware of was a pain in his chest. He wondered why, for a moment, until he remembered that night…and the knife. He sat up, careful not to injure himself further, and realized that he was back in his own apartment. He glanced around and spotted Marius, Feuilly, and Prouvaire asleep on the couch. Marius…he probably hadn't even left him.

Almost as if on cue, Marius lifted his head and looked over at the bed. His eyes widened and he quickly walked over.

"Marius, stop looking at me as if I came back from the dead," Enjolras met the younger man's gaze.

"I'm not so sure you haven't," Marius replied. "You have no idea how worried I've been…how worried all of us have been," he amended, reaching out and taking Enjolras' hand. "How do you feel?"

"A little sore, but nothing I can't live with. What happened? Why…how did you find me?"

"Éponine managed to chase the robbers away, and she called me and I got her to bring Combeferre," Marius explained.

"I knew becoming acquainted with that girl was a good idea," Enjolras smiled. "How long have I been out?"

"Three days. And a long three days it has been. We're falling apart without you."

"Perhaps not 'falling apart,' exactly," Enjolras nodded. Marius glanced at the couch. Prouvaire had his arms wrapped around Feuilly who, despite being awake, seemed not to mind. However, seeing the others looking at him, he blushed and said, "We didn't want to interrupt your reunion," before standing up and walking over.

"Very thoughtful of you," Enjolras smiled. "But how are you, Jehan?" he addressed the poet. "Still concerned I'm going to spit fire?"

Jehan sheepishly looked at the ground. "No; of course not. And my shoulder will be fine. It hardly hurts anymore."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it. But what of the others, Marius? Has something happened?" Something in Marius' tone had tipped him off.

"Well, Joly's deathly ill and Combeferre won't come out of his house, but..."

"I can understand André; I need to apologize to him. But Joly? Seriously deathly ill?" Enjolras was skeptical.

"From what Bossuet says, yes. And Bossuet can usually tell when Joly is faking," Feuilly answered.

"Well, since you cannot seem to function without me, we shall have to pay our dear _malaide imaginaire _a visit, shan't we?" Enjolras moved to get out of the bed.

"Are you sure? Shouldn't you rest?" Marius asked worriedly.

"Marius, stop treating me like an invalid. I know my limitations, and I feel fine. Really," he assured him. "I did not come _that _close to death. Although…I should probably put on some different clothes." Getting out of the bed, he put on a clean white shirt and, after considering it for a moment, he pulled out an elaborate red and gold vest and put that on as well. He turned around to see Marius looking at him.

"He's got the war vest on. It must be serious," Prouvaire commented.

"War vest?" Marius asked.

"Well, does it not inspire confidence?" Enjolras asked with a smile. "I suppose I have not worn it very often lately."

"And you have no idea how close to death you were," Marius went back to his earlier comment. "Combeferre thought that knife might have pierced a lung."

Enjolras paused and stared straight at Marius, but he said nothing; merely turned and walked through the door.

"Is someone afraid of his own mortality?" Feuilly asked. Marius shook his head and followed Enjolras out.

"Do you understand them at all?" Prouvaire asked, putting an arm around Feuilly's shoulders.

"No, but then…I don't have to. Marius is making it work in whatever way he can, but he can't force Apollo to change. In the end, that's a choice that Enjolras has to make on his own. I think it's a shock for him; considering that he was willing to end his own life, to have it given back and then almost taken away again…it can't be easy for anybody," Feuilly leaned into his friend's embrace, but then caught himself and straightened up. "We should go."

Prouvaire stared wistfully at him for a moment before he nodded.

When they reached Joly's apartment, they found a young woman pacing the hallway beside the door. She looked up and said, "I'm afraid you won't have much luck getting in there, gentlemen. Bossuet's being difficult."

"Well, hopefully we can help Joly with whatever's vexing him," Enjolras smiled, and the woman, looking at him for the first time, had to stop to catch her breath. Enjolras added, "Musichetta, I presume?"

"What?" she shook her head. "Oh, y-yes. You are friends of Pierre's?"

"Indeed. My name is…"

"Enjolras," she supplied breathily, stepping closer to him. "Pierre has mentioned your likeness to Apollo, but I never envisioned something so…flawless."

"Hmm…yes, well," he stepped back and waved a hand. "My companions are Marius Pontmercy, Sébastien Feuilly, and Jehan Prouvaire. Do you…possibly think Pierre would see us, Mademoiselle?"

She crossed her arms. "Bossuet says it's serious, and that for my own safety I must not enter. Pierre's always ill, and I haven't caught anything yet, so I don't see why…" she paused, then, and added, "Although I wouldn't be surprised if he just wants to make me jealous by spending more time with Pierre than I can. Well, two can play at that game, can't they?" she batted her eyelashes.

Enjolras didn't respond; merely stared at the door. She sighed and turned to Feuilly. "Say…you're rather handsome, aren't you?"

"I believe we came here for a reason," Prouvaire broke in. "Shall we?" He went to knock on the door.

"Who is it?" Bossuet sounded tired.

"It's us."

"Care to clarify?" Even his sarcasm sounded forced.

"Just let us in," Feuilly called.

The door opened and Bossuet peered out, a smile coming to his face when he saw Enjolras. "Well, if it isn't our dear Apollo, returned from his journey to Hades."

"L'Aigle, what's wrong with Joly?" Enjolras said briskly.

Lesgles sighed. "I wish I could tell you, but I'm no doctor, and Combeferre won't come out of his house. Joly just…won't get out of bed. He'll wake up every so often and stare blankly at the wall, but he never speaks to me. I think…I think he knows what it is, and I'm…I'm just afraid, that's all. But I need Combeferre. I have no money to afford a real doctor."

"When did it start?" Feuilly enquired.

Lesgles shook his head. "He left dinner early three nights ago and walked home alone. I came in less than a half-hour later and found him collapsed on the floor. The only odd thing was that the vase on the desk had been knocked off, and he was nowhere near the desk."

"Odd indeed. Can we see him?" Prouvaire asked.

"Of course. He woke up just a short time ago, but I don't know if he'll talk to anybody," he gestured to the bedroom. They entered to find Joly sitting up, but he did not look at them.

"Pierre, stop this charade and tell us what the matter is," Enjolras said, but gentler than his words would imply.

Joly blinked. "Enjolras? Then…you're alive. I was most worried," he said slowly.

"Joly, dearest, why have you not spoken to me?" Bossuet asked from the doorway.

"Bossuet…you must forgive me this. In truth, I did not want to worry you."

"Then…you know what is wrong?"

"Naturally." Joly half-smiled. "It has happened since I was young, although not for a good number of years. I thought perhaps I had been cured, but of course, a cure does not exist. Gentlemen…I'm an epileptic."

Bossuet cocked his head to the side. "A what?"

"Epilepsy. Falling sickness. Seizures," Joly clarified. "Usually symptoms include uncontrollable shaking and a sudden loss of consciousness."

"Is it…will it kill you?" Lesgles asked cautiously.

"It could, of course, but it is hardly likely."

"Then why…why were you so afraid to tell me?" Bossuet crossed to the bed.

"Because. Because I did not want you…any of you…to think less of me," Joly looked up.

"Joly, never," Bossuet knelt and took the other man's hand. "What motive could we have for faulting you? If you cannot control it, we have no right to change our opinions of you."

"Bossuet…that may be the most serious speech I have ever heard you make," Joly replied.

"Well, do not get used to it. I'm no good at being serious; that's Apollo's job," Lesgles smiled, leaning forward to embrace Joly.

"Now that we've solved this, perhaps I should go and talk to André," Enjolras spoke up.

"How does everyone feel about dinner tonight?" Joly put in. "I think we all have things we need to talk about."

"Are you sure you can?" Lesgles asked.

"It has passed; I'm fine. Hopefully it will not recur anytime soon, and if it does…well, I have all of you to look out for me," Joly replied, getting out of the bed.

"Of course. Oh…and Musichetta is waiting outside. I have a feeling she's rather annoyed with me," Bossuet looked toward the door with a bit of a sheepish grin.

Joly shook his head, but he was smiling. "Just as well, I suppose. Both of you hovering over me would hardly have speeded my recovery up." He turned to the others. "Dinner?"

"If we want to make it on time, we had better get to Combeferre's quickly," Marius suggested. Enjolras nodded, and the two left.

Upon reaching Combeferre's, they found Courfeyrac impatiently pacing outside the door, not unlike Musichetta.

"Jealous lover?" Marius asked in an undertone.

"Not likely," Enjolras replied, but then he paused. "Although…"

"Well, let's not think about that," Marius made a face. "Courfeyrac!" he called.

The man in question ceased his pacing and turned around. "Marius! Enjolras! Then…you're okay?"

"Naturally. But I have to speak to André," Enjolras replied.

"Be my guest. He certainly will not speak to me," Courfeyrac sighed. "And don't bother knocking; I left it open."

Enjolras entered and was surprised to find the room dark, though it was only mid-afternoon. A raspy voice asked, "What do you want? Can't you leave me be?" Combeferre sounded as if he had either been crying a lot or yelling a lot, although in his case, it had probably been both.

"That depends on whether you want me to leave you be. Do you?" Enjolras asked in his most commanding tone.

Combeferre looked up, his form only a vague shadow. "Apollo?"

"Who else, my friend?"

"But…how…" Combeferre opened the drapes, flooding the room with light. He looked as if he hadn't slept since that night…or changed his clothes. "You…you're alive?"

"Well, I certainly hope so. Why? What's the problem?" Enjolras moved toward the other man.

"In truth? I was quite sure you were not going to survive. That knife…it was so close to your heart, I felt certain that it had hit something vital. But I suppose I was not thinking clearly," he stood. "After all, how can a mere mortal slay a god?" He paused, and then quietly asked, "Are you still angry with me?"

"André, I was never angry with you, and I never had any right to say what I did, for you were only trying to help. In truth, I am the one who should be apologizing," Enjolras admitted. "But, regardless, a suggestion has been made that we go out for dinner tonight. Will you join us?"

"If I can get myself presentable. I think I've been scaring Courfeyrac with my actions," Combeferre smiled.

"He _is _still waiting for you outside, however," Enjolras replied. "But perhaps you should think about these things more carefully before you go into seclusion. Bossuet really needed your help."

"For what? So I could tell him that Joly is somewhat prone to having seizures?"

"You knew?"

"He's told me before, but he knows how to take care of himself. How is he?" Combeferre glanced up from where he was digging for a clean shirt.

"Claims he feels fine, now. He was the one who suggested dinner," Enjolras added.

"Ah. Well, they pass quickly." Combeferre finally settled on a shirt and slipped it over his head. "Shall we?"

They walked into the hall and Courfeyrac turned to face them, saying, "Hallelujah. You've finally come out."

"I'm sorry for acting so foolishly, Courfeyrac. A lesser man than you would have abandoned me and my sulking days ago," Combeferre smiled sheepishly.

Courfeyrac snorted and drew himself up to his full height. "A lesser man than me does not deserve to be named François Courfeyrac," he replied. "But come, I bear you no ill will. We all know how stubborn I can get when the mood takes me."

"I do not think anyone will argue that," Marius laughed, which caused Courfeyrac to shoot him a frosty glare.

"Well, now that everything is back to normal…or, at least, as close to normal as it ever will be, why don't we go and have some of this proposed dinner? I feel ravenously hungry, but that may simply be the cause of not eating for three days," Combeferre opened the door to the street.

"Undoubtedly. But you fellows really _do _need to learn how to get on without me. I will not be around forever," Enjolras walked through the door.

"Well, let us not dwell on that, or anything serious, for the remainder of the evening," Marius suggested. The others readily agreed, and they went off to dinner.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

The late summer sunlight passed across Marius' face as he lay beneath the leafy canopy of a large tree in the Luxembourg. Life had moved on with few changes since the events of July, although Bossuet was somewhat more protective of Joly. Enjolras really seemed to have benefited from his near-death experience; he was altogether in a better mood and his bouts of angry depression were becoming less and less frequent. Marius closed his eyes and enjoyed the warmth of the setting sun. It was he who had proposed meeting in the park to watch the sun set instead of viewing it through the windows of a dingy café. Jehan, at least, had appreciated the art of his suggestion, and nobody had really protested, so here he was…waiting for the others to show up.

He heard a slight shuffling in the grass beside him and sat up, shading his eyes.

"Good evening to you, Marius, and a very fine evening it is, I must say," Enjolras sat beside the other man. "I hope you don't mind that I brought an uninvited guest."

Marius looked up and spotted Éponine, who smiled at him. "Not at all. How are you, 'Ponine?"

She blushed happily. "Fairly well, M'sieur, but once again, my father expects me home soon. And I would not want to interrupt your meeting," she added.

"Oh, it would not matter to us. You're welcome anytime," Marius answered her. "Well…Enjolras does kind of have a rule about no women going into the back room in the café, but out here…I'm sure even he wouldn't care."

"Marius, stop," Enjolras said, but turning to Éponine he replied, "He's right; you can stay if you wish."

"Thank you, M'sieurs. I appreciate that greatly. But I really must go. Goodbye!" she flitted away through the trees.

"When are the others due to arrive?" Marius asked, moving closer to Enjolras and leaning against the other man.

"Marius! Not in public!" Enjolras blushed, but he made no move to put any distance between them.

"Oh, hush. You're not worried about the public, Apollo. You're just worried about the _Amis _thinking you've gone soft on them," Marius replied.

"Gentlemen, what have I told you about showing affection where others can see you?" Combeferre came around the tree. "Especially when you have a friend who is feeling rather left out," he added, smiling.

"Left out? What am I, then?" They looked up to spot Courfeyrac sitting on the lower branches of the tree.

Combeferre shook his head. "François, stop playing games and join the rest of us."

"But the view is so much better from up here." He stood, grasping the tree for support. "Feuilly! Prouvaire!" he called, and a few seconds later the poet and fan-maker came into view.

"Beautiful evening, lads!" Prouvaire said. "Just the type of night that inspires good poetry."

"Beaudiful it may be, but all dis grass is aggrivatig by hay feber," Joly and Bossuet came from the other direction.

"Joly, everything aggravates your hay fever," Courfeyrac replied.

Joly looked up. "Courfeyrac, cobe down frob there. You're goig to break a leg."

"How? By doing this?" Courfeyrac flipped upside-down so he was hanging from his knees.

"You dow, you're part of the reason I'b agig abnorbally quickly," Joly responded, pointing accusingly at Courfeyrac with his cane.

"No, _mon ami_, the reason you're aging quickly is because of that cane. Canes are for the elderly, unless you simply wish to look like a foppish dandy," Courfeyrac countered.

"He may be a foppish dandy, but at least he's _my _foppish dandy," Bossuet shot back, climbing onto the tree branch. Joly turned a furious shade of red.

"Bossuet, get down while you can because with your luck _you'll _be the one to fall and break a leg," Courfeyrac pulled himself back onto the branch. "Where are Grantaire and Bahorel?"

"Drinking and off with other friends, I suspect," Feuilly replied. "No way Grantaire would come unless he could bring an entire wine-cellar with him."

"But, my dear Feuilly, I am curious to find out that the status of your and Jehan's relationship is. After all, you _are _sleeping together," Bossuet grinned.

Feuilly glared at him. "There is a notable difference between sleeping in the same bed and sleeping together, L'Aigle, and I assure you that we have only ever done the former."

"Feuilly, would a relationship really be that bad for you?" Courfeyrac asked.

"A relationship? No. A relationship with another _man? _ Yes. It's unnatural. You don't see people in situations like that. The public frowns upon it," he retorted, a bit harshly.

Jehan contented himself with staring rather fixedly at a stop on the ground.

"And who do you care about offending, dear Feuilly?" Courfeyrac stopped down behind the fan-maker and pulled the other man to his chest, pinning his arms against his sides. "It's not like you have a family who would disown you."

"Thank you for reminding me of my heritage, Courfeyrac. Now, if you would be so kind as to let go of me…" Feuilly let the sentence hang.

"Oh, loosen up, _Sébastien,_" Courfeyrac teased.

"François, let it go. You certainly cannot force him to make a decision," Enjolras cut in.

"Look, Apollo, if you can stomach the thought of another man touching you, and you're the most anti-person person I know, then I'm certain Feuilly can," Courfeyrac shot back. Jehan chose that moment to move to the other side of the tree. Marius, watching the poet, glanced at Enjolras, who nodded. Getting up, he walked after Jehan and put a gentle hand on the man's shoulder.

"What am I doing wrong, Marius?" Jehan asked, sighing.

"Nothing, Jehan. You just have to give him time…and, possibly, accept the fact that he does not feel the same way about you as you do about him," Marius ended quietly.

"Oh, I realize that, Marius. It just seems like I'm the only one trying, and yet everyone else has what I want, even though they never aspired to it. Look at Joly and Bossuet, or even Apollo and yourself…"

"Jehan, Enjolras and I are assuredly _not _a couple," Marius stated.

"No, I was not implying that. I just…don't know what to do anymore," he looked down as Feuilly came around the tree.

"Ah, there you are! Now that Courfeyrac has kindly released me, I need to apologize for what I said. Jehan, I know I was not exactly being considerate of your feelings when I mentioned…"

"Feuilly, you were merely expressing the viewpoint of every normal French citizen. Suffice to say, I am not normal." Prouvaire's tone was uncharacteristically harsh.

"You must be angry, Jehan. You never refer to me by surname alone," Feuilly pointed out.

"I am angry, but not at you. I'm mad at this idiotic world that will not give those like me a chance; those who condemn us before they even know us," he ran a hand through his hair.

"Jehan…you should know by now that none of that matters to me. No matter what, you'll always be one of my closest friends," Feuilly assured the poet with a smile.

Jehan turned around. "You _are _being serious, aren't you." It wasn't so much a question as a statement. "It's just that…you can say that we are still friends and that nothing will change between us, but you cannot possibly imagine how I feel, knowing that to you, we will always only be 'just friends.'"

"I guess I am partly at fault, then, because you are right: I never considered how much it would affect you. If you would rather not have me living in your home…" Feuilly stopped.

"No. No, of course you mustn't leave. I…" he reached out a tentative hand, but stopped when he realized what he was doing. Feuilly stared straight into his eyes for a long moment before nodding. Jehan smiled in appreciation before embracing the other man. "Now, Sébastien, Marius, I believe we came here to watch a lovely sunset, which is somewhat hard to do when facing east. Shall we?"

They walked back to the others, and Enjolras beckoned Marius over. "Have they made peace?"

"Indeed. Feuilly is still tentative, but…"

"But so was I," Enjolras replied quietly. "And so I still am. But life is too short to spend all one's time worrying. Especially for me. The right moment comes, the insurrection starts…very probably we shall all perish."

"Do…they know of this?" Marius had hardly realized how little hope Enjolras had of trying to make a difference in the country.

"As in, have I ever explicitly told them? Besides André, no. But I have a suspicion that they must know because they all feel the same way as I about what they must do to change France.

"As far as I am concerned, every day could be my last. We do not know when the event that turns the tide will come; we only know it is inevitable that it shall. Perhaps, even more than fearing to get close to others because of my past, I am afraid to because I know it cannot last." He stared straight ahead.

Marius shook his head. Enjolras was having an 'Apollo' moment, but Marius knew that he believed what he thought made sense.

"And what allowed you to get to know me, or do you simply have no regard to my feelings?" Marius asked lightly.

"You…Marius, you were simply…different. I felt…feel…a kinship with you that I never have with another person. I do not think I could have avoided you even had I tried," Enjolras smiled at the younger man. "And I know that my morbidity must wear on you, but I assure you I am trying to not take everything so seriously. What will come will come; I have no control over what will be, so I must be content with what is." He laid a hand on the younger man's arm.

Marius nodded thoughtfully before shifting closer to Enjolras who, despite his earlier voicings about being in public, pulled the other man to him so Marius was leaning against his chest.

Combeferre came over, saying, "I've noted a serious tone in this area. Was Apollo lamenting his mistress again?"

"Mistress?" Marius asked suspiciously.

"_Patria," _Enjolras replied. Marius appeared to be pondering this information, so Enjolras added, "I suppose the only person I have that would be comparable to a mistress would be you, Marius."

"Now normally that would offend me, but since you are at least attempting to be humorous, I shall let it go," Marius retorted.

"Very thoughtful of you," Enjolras smiled. "But what of yourself, André? You tease me about my mistress, but I have never seen yours."

Combeferre blushed. "Well, I…"

"Of course you have, Enjolras," Courfeyrac put in.

"Not unless you have miraculously turned into a woman," Marius teased.

"Now, wait a minute! I never said it was me," Courfeyrac protested, causing the rest to laugh.

"Such a beautiful sunset," Jehan sat down. "I must write a poem about it."

"If you would let me borrow it after you do, I would gladly paint a picture of it for you," Feuilly offered.

"Would you, Sébastien? That would be lovely," Jehan replied, as Feuilly sat next to him. Stealing a glance at Marius and Enjolras, he slowly and cautiously put his arms around the fan-maker, who hesitantly leaned into the poet's embrace.

Courfeyrac moved to stand behind Combeferre and put a hand on the philosopher's shoulder, while Joly and Bossuet joined the others on the grass.

"Evening, gents!" Bahorel ran up the hill, followed by a complaining Grantaire, who conveniently had a wine bottle in each hand. Taking one look at Enjolras and Marius, he downed one of the bottles in a single swig and passed out on the ground. Bahorel glanced at him and shrugged, continuing, "I had to hurry away from a meeting in order to make it, but I assured them it was important. By the by: a new, potentially successful émeute is being planned, and…"

"Bahorel, please. Not now," Enjolras said. "We all just want a little peace this evening."

"Peace is good. I shall émeute-monger another time," Bahorel replied, sitting between Joly and Bossuet and looping an arm around each of them.

And so, they sat in companionable silence while the sun set. Silence, that is, apart from Joly's hay fever-induced sneezing.

**FIN**

**Yay! It's finished! And, for once, there is actually a completed sequel, which I will post if anyone actually wants to read it. Thank you all for the wonderful reviews; you make me so happy! Well, **_**Jane **_**for now, **_**minna!**_** Sorry…couldn't resist throwing the Japanese in there…even though this is a French story. **_**Adieu! **_


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